


Save Me, San Iker

by pepsicokes



Category: Football RPF
Genre: FIFA World Cup 2014, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2071407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepsicokes/pseuds/pepsicokes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two men, both considered a “disgrace” to their country, comforted each other with their physical presence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save Me, San Iker

**Author's Note:**

> I realize this is not a very popular ship so I hope you guys could join me soon. :p

Even third place seemed better than second.

That’s how four-time Player of the Year, Lionel Messi, felt upon receiving the Golden Ball for his efforts in the latest World Cup. It was an award he never dreamed of having as he was always more concerned with winning the trophy for his country than for himself. Always so selfless, that Leo.

He looked over at the celebrating German national team, green with envy. He came so close but unfortunately for him, an Argentine victory wasn’t written in the stars for that year. Stoic and stone-faced, Leo retreated to the locker room with his runner-up medal in one hand and his accessory of a Golden Ball trophy in the other.

He had received praise from his colleagues despite the loss. He was greeted by his Barcelona teammates, Puyi, Geri and Neymar. He earned the respect of Die Mannschaft and was congratulated by Jogi, Basti, Lahm, and Neuer. Coach Sabella warmly embraced him as if he was his own son. Pocho tried to cheer him up with his ever-dependable sense of humor while Angel and Kun shared words of encouragement with him. Now wasn’t the time to cry, he thought. Not when everyone was watching him. He tried his best to muster up a smile at these people and often excused himself from such pointless conversations.

What good is being the best player in the world without the honor of winning the World Cup for your team?

Leo boarded the bus and stared outside the window, bombarding himself with questions of self-doubt and insecurity. Rio was starting to be a blur to him. He didn’t care about returning to the hotel room and being welcomed by _the_ Diego Maradona. There aren’t enough reassuring words from Maradona that can change how Leo felt about himself after letting that free kick of his go over the post. Not even Manuel Neuer could have reached that high to stop the shot.

All Leo wanted to do was leave Rio, leave Brazil, and come home to Argentina for a while to be with his family and his countrymen before flying back to Spain to reunite with his Barcelona teammates at Camp Nou. A new season awaited him.

Meanwhile, the Spanish goalkeeper, Iker Casillas was sitting in his home at Mostoles during the World Cup. He was proud of his current and former Real Madrid teammates like Angel, Pipa, Mesut, and Sami for making it this far. But when he saw Messi’s reaction to the German victory, his heart couldn’t help but break for his fellow captain. After all, it wasn’t long ago that he was standing on the pitch, teary-eyed after letting his country down in heavy losses against the Netherlands and Chile.

A few weeks after the finals and the hype of the World Cup had settled down, Leo, along with a few of his other teammates, headed back to Europe in preparation for their respective clubs’ seasons. Leo wanted to avoid the journalists hounding him with questions at the airport. He wouldn’t know what to tell them anyway. What else was there to tell? He stayed at his home in Barcelona and spent days on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and contemplating on his past mistakes during that one pivotal match. He got exhausted from all this over-thinking and would often find himself dozing off, only to be woken up by the ringing of his phone. One day, he groggily picked it up and stared at the screen. During these many calls, he would groan and set his phone back down on the nightstand, but this recent call had a different fate.

Eventually, Leo pulled himself off the bed and decided to dress himself up in his athletic gear. He stuffed his Barcelona home kit into his bag and headed off for Barcelona’s training ground, Ciudad Deportiva. When he arrived, the pitch was totally empty. Just the way he wanted it. He requested for a crate of training equipment to be pulled out by the staff present at the camp. He donned the red and blue stripes that made his club famous after setting up a training course for himself. There were orange traffic cones sprawled out on the grass. He pulled a ball out of the crate and dropped it to the ground, looking to dribble it around the orange obstacles. When he reached the end of the line of traffic cones, he decided to kick the ball into the net ahead of him. The goal post went untouched as the ball was caught by someone else. A familiar face to Leo. One Iker Casillas.

Leo genuinely smiled for the first time in what felt like forever. “You made it,” he said as he approached the goalkeeper who was dressed all casually for the occasion. Iker tossed the ball aside and outstretched his arms for Leo to walk into. The Argentinian gave him a bone-crushing hug that felt warmer than any other hug of consolation he received back in Brazil.

“How are you feeling, my little lion?” Iker inquired while stroking the back of Leo’s head to comfort him in this trying time.

“Only slightly better,” Leo responded, looking down at the ground while his head rested on Iker’s chest. He had so much to say about the World Cup and he felt that only Iker could tell him the words that he wanted to hear.

Iker pushed Leo’s hair back and kissed him on his sweaty forehead. “Get yourself dressed and tell me all about it,” he said to Leo. He ruffled his hair and grinned sweetly at the Barca player.

Iker and Leo were from opposing rival teams in La Liga but still shared a connection of mutual respect on the pitch. But off the pitch, they shared more than a platonic connection. Leo’s shy and humble demeanor had won over Iker’s heart while Leo gave in to Iker’s caring and protective nature. A lot of the _blancos_ could be righteous jerks on the pitch, but not Iker. The Madrid captain approached every situation in a diplomatic manner and Leo admired him for that. He was different from the rest, he thought. Iker, being the older man, provided words of wisdom to the younger Leo. He always knew the right things to say and Leo hoped that this encounter wouldn’t be any different. He needed Iker’s words now, more than ever.

While Iker accompanied Leo to the locker room, he noticed that the Argentinian was more distant than usual. Knowing how introverted Leo was, he decided not to pry into Leo’s business early on in their meeting. They arrived at the locker room and Iker decided to read through a pocketbook while waiting for Leo to finish taking a shower. And when he did, the young striker stepped out of the bathroom with a towel over his waist. Iker peered over his book and eyed Leo from head to toe.

“I see Brazil didn’t change your skin tone one bit,” Iker said with a smirk, poking fun at Leo’s pale skin.

Leo had been standing in front of his locker and chuckling to himself. “Nothing has changed for me at all in Brazil,” Leo said. “Still the same skin color, still without a World Cup trophy in my hands.”

When the Argentinian laughed bitterly, Iker’s face transformed into a concerned frown. “Leo,” he whispered as Leo looked down at the floor with his hands to his hips. He glanced at Iker with a fake smile to hide the pain in his heart. “Leo, no,” Iker said, realizing how sensitive the issue was. He got up from the bench and approached Leo from behind, placing his hand on his lower back. “Sit down, my little lion,” he whispered to Leo’s ear.

Iker sat down on the bench first and gently pulled Leo close to force him to sit next to him. He wrapped a consoling arm around Leo’s pale shoulders and landed a soft kiss to his temple. “It wasn’t your fault, my little lion,” Iker said as he started stroking Leo’s hair. “Always remember that.”

Leo nuzzled his head into the crook of Iker’s neck and looked down at the floor with great sorrow. “All I wanted was to win that trophy for my country,” he said. “All I wanted was for my country to be proud of me.”

“They are proud of you,” Iker was quick to reply.

“No, they’re not,” Leo responded, getting choked up. “I’m a traitor and a disappointment.”

There was always two sides to the story. Iker was correct in saying that the Argentine people were proud of Leo, especially considering how their national team hasn’t reached the finals in 24 years. However, Leo’s statement wasn’t far off from the truth. He was criticized for being a traitor to his people because he bypassed the Argentine clubs and played for Spain for most of his football career. And most of all, no matter how many accolades Messi had to his name over the years, he always lived in Maradona’s shadow.

Disappointing a nation was a feeling Iker was all too familiar with. But he wouldn’t dare compare it with Leo’s situation. It ate up Iker inside, knowing that he has won something that his little lion had always wanted his entire life. Iker didn’t know what else to say and there was no use to denying Leo’s words.

Iker could feel the wetness of Leo’s tears on his shoulders. He moved his hand on Leo’s lower back and rubbed it up and down to console him.

“Remember when you said that if you could make anyone Spanish, you wished it was me?” Leo said, twiddling his thumbs to keep his hands occupied. He wiped the tears from his eyes and continued, “I am a proud Argentine but during that match, I wondered how things would’ve gone differently if I had been born a Spaniard.”

Iker did remember that interview and was touched that Leo would remember such a line. “I wondered how things would have gone if I had played with Xavi, David, Geri and Andres,” Leo continued, listing his Barcelona teammates. “I would have even played with Xabi and Sergio and… I would have played with you.”

“I love my teammates, I really do,” Leo said amidst the tears. “But I just…”

There was a long pause after that. Leo didn’t want to continue anymore, because for every word he uttered, he felt more and more like a traitor. He sobbed and sobbed, unleashing his sorrow on Iker’s unsuspecting chest. Even before they had met up that day, Iker had already been aware of the criticism Leo had been facing. This was the problem of one Lionel Messi in a team like Argentina. People were quick to credit a team’s win to Messi and they were just as quick to credit him for his team’s loss. He saw Leo’s performance dissected by sports pundits, the loss broadcasted all over the news, the negative comments about Leo all over the internet. It disgusted Iker. What do they know about football, he thought. They never knew what it was like to play the way they did.

But no matter how many critics Leo faced, his biggest and harshest critic was always himself. He was terribly humble and Iker wished Leo could give himself more credit. Leo’s deep and intense love for football was so beautiful to Iker. He could never fully fathom it. Here was a boy who, despite his childhood difficulties and disabilities, just wanted to play football. Here was a talented and gifted boy who didn’t care about all the individual critical acclaim of his skills on the pitch. All he wanted was to play and win.

Iker himself was at a loss of words. Dubbed as San Iker for all the great saves he has made in his career as a goalkeeper, not even he could save Leo from this misery of self-loathing. At that moment, that was all Iker wanted to do. He wanted to save his little lion from crumbling under the pressure placed on his shoulders by the world. He wanted to protect Leo’s career, and he wanted to protect Leo’s heart.

All Iker could do was pull Leo’s head close and kiss him on the cheek. The usual “you’ll get them next time” and “it wasn’t your fault” were too hollow of words to comfort the Argentine national. Leo responded in the same way, holding Iker close to his own body and reached over for Iker’s hand to place it from his lower back to his waist. He placed his hand over the Spaniard’s and intertwined his own fingers with Iker’s. For the rest of the day, they rested on each other’s heads and wallowing in comfortable silence.

Two men, both considered a “disgrace” to their country, comforted each other with their physical presence. The world’s criticism was overwhelming for the both of them but as long as they found strength in each other, it was Lionel Messi and Iker Casillas against the world. And this was a battle, they did not intend to lose.


End file.
